


The Light in the Grim Darkness

by Carrie_oke



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrie_oke/pseuds/Carrie_oke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dark, rainy night, inexplicable sounds, and a mysterious gift from a mysterious stranger: all ingredients for a classic horror story. But the only remotely scary thing that comes out of all this is the free video game, which just so happens to be a horror game. Honestly, if it weren't for your cute little flower guide, you don't think you would have lasted this long. Should you be worried that he's talking to you? (Rated T only because it's Underfell, to leave room for intense stuff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While the first chapter doesn't feature a reader character, this IS a reader insert. The reader is gender neutral, with they/them pronouns used to refer to them where necessary, but you're welcome to swap those out.
> 
> And to think I wanted nothing to do with Underfell when I first got into the fandom...

The underground was a cruel, cruel place. It had been obvious for quite a long time, but he believed it now more than ever. He’d learned a valuable lesson these past few months, or years, or centuries. (At this point, it was almost impossible to tell.)

At first glance, you might say that lesson was “Be careful what you wish for.” But it went far beyond that. A more accurate way to say it was, “Even the most desperate of wishes, the ones you think you want no matter how much it takes, can backfire tremendously.”

Because all that poor little flower had wanted all that time ago was safety.

Ever since he’d awoken as a vulnerable flower, he spent much of his life running, if you could call it that. He ducked into the ground and popped up somewhere else as quickly as he could, twisting his face into a horrifying form every time someone approached. Down there, it was kill or be killed. The strong prevailed, and the weak were sacrificed. And Flowey definitely fell into the latter category.

Every time he found a reflective surface, he wondered how he’d lasted this long with only a torn petal. How he’d made it this far, fairly unscathed, without killing OR being killed. But the truth was, for Flowey at least, those weren’t the only two options.

Instead, it was kill, be killed, or _flee_.

And after ages of choosing “flee” time and time again, that wasn’t a very appealing option, either.

To distract himself from his fear, and to learn some means of self defense, Flowey took up healing magic. The long-abandoned art of restoring HP without food could only be practiced using dusty tomes buried in the Ruins, where Flowey soon found himself spending much of his time. Soon, he taught himself to perform a simple spell that made small elliptical “bullets” of glowing green. But that wasn’t a very appropriate word at all. No, these weren’t bullets. They were...friendliness...pellets.

Friendship, unfortunately, was also a concept that he could only learn from the dusty old books.

But even healing magic couldn’t divert him for very long. Even in the Ruins, he had to be constantly on guard, lest he be spotted by a Froggit, or a Whimsun, or even that witch Toriel. Inevitably, someone would walk by a half hour or so into Flowey’s magic session, and he’d have to get out of there as soon as possible.

The one thing Flowey wanted more than anything else in the world was for all this to stop. For the underground’s population of monsters to stop being so life-threatening, for the world to stop being so scary. For him to stop having to flee. He didn’t care what it took. _Everything had to stop._

And one day, much to his surprise, everything _did_ stop.

Quite literally. Flowey was on his way to his usual spot in the Ruins, about to work on strengthening his healing pellets, when all of a sudden he heard all-too-familiar footsteps. He darted into the ground and resurfaced a few feet ahead, making sure he was moving away from her and not closer.

Her figure emerged from behind the cracked brick wall. White matted fur, razor-sharp horns, bags under her huge, bloodshot eyes...it was Toriel, alright. And for some reason, Flowey just couldn’t outrun her today.

He concentrated on going farther with each move, but try as he might, he couldn’t emerge any more than a few feet ahead of his previous position. She was closer now; he could practically smell the blood cinnamon. And then, just when she was about to look his way…

...she stopped short.

Her head was stuck mid-turn, her feet mid-step. She wasn’t even blinking anymore, not even after several minutes had passed.

Flowey, both curious and a bit braver than usual, turned around and passed her, setting out to explore the rest of the Ruins. Froggits, Whimsuns, Moldsmals, Looxes, and rotten Vegetoids all lay in his path, but not a single one of them noticed him. Or even moved an inch.

He couldn’t believe it at first, but after about a day of nothing moving at all, he was fully convinced. The underground had come to a standstill. And, for as long as this lasted, he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone threatening him, or worse, again.

At first, he was still on guard. The world could spring back to life at a moment’s notice, and he wasn’t about to die from carelessness. But things stayed frozen for the equivalent of several days. Which quickly grew to several weeks, then several months...

...until he no longer knew how long, but was pretty sure it had been several years.

He spent his days in solitude, even when he was surrounded by monsters. Time slowed to a crawl for Flowey, and since it had stopped for everyone else, there were no days or nights. Just a long stretch of time where _absolutely nothing happened_.

And the worst part was, this was exactly what he’d wanted.

He’d never specified that time should stop, but he'd never said it _shouldn’t_ , either. All he had said in his internal pleas was that he no longer wanted to live in fear. He hadn’t cared how.

So he was stuck here alone, the only one aware that time wasn’t moving. Or, one of the only ones. As he was waiting by the Ruins door one day, he thought he heard the voice of a stubby skeleton named Sans. But he didn’t investigate further; Sans was a menacing creature, and the only time they’d met, he’d given Flowey such a glare that he was convinced to never go near him again.

So when he heard him just outside the door, he slightly revised the new wish he’d formed. “I could use someone to talk to,” became “I could use someone other than Sans.”

He hastily added a “You don’t have to, though,” after he realized _this_ wish could turn on him, too.

As time wore on, he entered a kind of despair he’d never before experienced. He’d known a feeling he thought was despair before, back when he was convinced he’d have to spend his whole life running. But even then, he’d held onto some hope that it would all end.

And look where _that_ had got him.

Now he was starting to believe things would _never_ get better. That if he wasn’t condemned to live in painful dullness, with nothing happening and no one to keep him company, some other horrible thing would happen. He no longer tried to make things interesting by moving around the underground. Instead, he took to his usual spot in the Ruins. The only thing left to do, he thought, was to try to get some sleep.

And he hadn’t needed to sleep for ages.

He was almost starting to doze off when a light appeared in the distance. Even before opening his eyes, he could see the space in front of him lighten just a bit. And when he got a better look, he found that there was a glow somewhere in front of him, and it was slowly approaching. Accompanied by the sound of footsteps.

Flowey panicked. Was it Sans, convinced this was all his fault? He had to get out of there!

But it had been a little while since he’d moved, so he couldn’t flee fast enough. And soon, the figure was in front of him. It didn’t look like Sans, but knowing the underground, this person was probably still dangerous.

So, thinking quickly, Flowey concentrated all his energy into his face, molding it into the most fearsome shape it could take on. “WHO GOES THERE?!” he growled. Not bad for his first words in who knew how long.

The figure before him gasped and trembled, and it was only then that Flowey made two important realizations. The first was that this wasn’t Sans, meaning that time might have finally resumed. The thought of that was enough to shape his face back into its default, friendly form.

The second realization was that this wasn’t even a monster. It was...a _human_. A human _child,_  no less.

“Wow,” they said, with an echo Flowey assumed was coming from the Ruins walls. “A minute in, and I’m _already_ scared.”

It was an amazing ability humans possessed, to talk without opening their mouths. Why he couldn’t remember that, he had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I have a general idea of how this story will go, I may still need your input for a few details along the way. Right now I have one question.
> 
> How old should the reader character be?
> 
> 1\. High school-aged
> 
> [2. College-aged]
> 
> 3\. Above college-aged
> 
> With two votes for 2, that's the one I'm going with! Since I've written much of the second chapter, I can't leave this open much longer. Thanks for your help!


	2. Chapter 2

There are plenty of things that make you uneasy. Most of these, like large insects, sharp objects, tumbling down that steep, rocky slope near your house, and your brother’s horror game collection, are childhood fears you’re still in the process of getting over. They used to terrify you, but now they just sort of unnerve you.

And then there are thunderstorms.

They never used to bother you at all; in fact, they used to fascinate you. As a child, you’d stare out the window, eagerly anticipating the “pretty lights.” Lightning, in your opinion, looked really cool, and you kept a watchful eye out for bolts. They were hard to catch-- usually you just saw a flash-- but that didn’t stop you from trying. You even succeeded a few times, and while your brother was curled up on a couch, clasping his hands to his ears, you were too in awe of the electricity before you to be more than a little shaken up by the thunder.

You wish you could go back to those days, when you could sit calmly through the wind and rain, but ever since that kid went missing that stormy October night, you’ve never been able to lightning watch again.

Instead, you tend to stay away from the windows, distracting yourself with your laptop or the TV and hoping the power doesn’t go out. Watching out a window would just make you antsy, especially since you can see the very location the child was said to have disappeared. The hill, rising like a spike over the rest of your development, is always surrounded by a dense concentration of clouds whenever there’s a storm.

Which is more than a little ominous. And tonight, as on all other stormy nights, you refuse to look at it. As you scroll through Netflix, trying to find an interesting enough movie or TV show to distract you, you try your best to ignore the wind howling, and the rain banging against the windows.A flash of light inverts the color of the sky, and you brace yourself for the following thunder.

But the thunder never comes. Just...evil laughter?

No, that’s not it, not exactly. It has the right voice for evil laughter, something like a witch’s, or a demon’s. But the creature isn’t laughing like someone is about to die; it’s more of a...nervous laughter. Like someone’s about to find out that they ate all the cookies.

This laughter is followed by what’s supposed to be your doorbell, which sounds a little off. You could have sworn there were two notes in its little tune, not three. But you shrug it off and wait for someone else in the family to get it.

Wait. Both your parents are asleep. And your brother isn’t home.

Which means it’s up to you to go answer it. Sighing, you toss your blanket off and put the remote on the coffee table. Looks like you’re going to have to look outside after all. But hopefully not for long.

You hurry to the door, motivating yourself with promises of Netflix, and pull it open. Or, more accurately, the wind pushes it open.

But no one’s on the other side. You just see a flash of two red glowing dots, and an equally red, equally glowing...heart?...before they disappear. Guess you’ll never know why someone would ring your doorbell in these weather conditions.

Or will you?

Sitting in front of the door, illuminated by the porch lights, is a black cardboard box, sealed up with packing tape. No shipping company, no address, no anything gives any hints as to where it came from or what it contains. The only word on it is “*Package,” printed in a weird 8-bit font on the side. You figure it’s in red for style reasons, but you can’t figure out what sort of style requires an asterisk at the front.

Despite the overhang protecting it to some degree, the box-- and you-- are still subject to a few stray drops, and plenty of powerful gusts of wind. So you pick up the box as quickly as possible and take it inside, not wanting it to get too wet.

You click the door shut and lock it with one hand as the other carries the package, when a startling thought hits you:

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that.

After all, you have no idea where this box came from, who it came from, or what it could contain. It could be a bomb, for all you know. Maybe you should put it back--

_Crack-a-BOOM!_

Okay, you’re not going back out there.

You set the box down on the kitchen counter, wondering if it’s safe to open it. Your curiosity quickly overpowers your doubts, and you rifle through drawers, searching for a pair of scissors. It doesn’t take too long to find one, and you attempt to slide one of the blades through the packing tape. The tape is very strong, however, and you worry you’ll accidentally cut yourself. So you stick to the classic cutting motions, keeping the scissors a safe distance from your other hand.

And, of course, you’re sure to put the scissors down before you open the flaps. Inside is a distinct absence of packing peanuts, bubble wrap, or any sort of protective wrapping; you’re greeted immediately by the box’s main contents.

Resting at the very top is a note, with that same red 8-bit font on a piece of white paper. All it says is “*You feel compelled to play this game.”

Who does this note think it is, telling you what to feel? You smile at this thought, in an attempt to distract yourself from how unsettling this is, and you put the note aside.

Directly underneath is an electronic device of some sort; you think it’s a laptop. It would blend into the rest of the box if it weren’t for the bright red border outlining its basically rectangular form. (“Basically” because its shape comes to two shallow spikes at two of the corners.) Carefully, you remove it from the box, setting it down on the counter.

And upon opening it, you find it’s not exactly a laptop. Oh, it has a screen and a hinge, yes, but instead of a keyboard, it has buttons. A control pad on the right, and circular Z, X, and C buttons on the left. And in the top right corner is a power button. It reminds you of your old Game Boy, which you should still have somewhere. You get the urge to go upstairs and find it.

But that can wait until tomorrow. Right now, you want to see what this game’s about. There _is_ a game on here, right? You reach for the power button, and--

No. You can’t press it.

If there’s anything your brother’s horror games, horror movies, and Creepypastas have taught you, it’s that stormy nights, strange noises, and mysterious gifts spell danger. If you play this game now, there’s a good chance a character is going to jump out of it with a knife.

No, you’re being ridiculous. This isn’t one of those stories, and this GameTop looks completely harmless. Completely demon-free.

Although, you haven’t quite ruled out that’s it’s a bomb…

You’ll tell yourself what. You’ll close the GameTop, put it back in the box, and not touch it again until tomorrow morning. If by then there are no more mysterious messages, strange sounds, or weird warnings, you’ll turn it on. If there are, you’ll get rid of it.

You nod, finding this a reasonable compromise, and hop back onto the couch for some Netflix.


	3. Chapter 3

The night goes, and the next morning comes, thankfully not bringing the storm with it. It’s still a little cloudy, and a little wet, but that’s all that remains of the turmoil. And as you lie there, happy that the day has such a peaceful opening, the memories of last night come rushing to the front of your mind.

And the first one you find is that laptop. You realize that your parents should be up by now, and either of them could have gotten rid of it  _for_ you. Even though you haven’t seen any new reasons to be suspicious since you opened the box.

You hope they haven’t touched it. Not after all that waiting.

So you throw back the covers, leap out of bed, and bound down the stairs to see if it’s still there, ultimately finding that…

“Oh.”

“Oh what?”

You look up to find your father, walking by with a basket of dirty laundry. “Dad?” you say. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” You call it that because he works at the local middle school as an eighth grade science teacher.

He sets the basket down in the nearby laundry room before answering. “They had a field trip today.”

“Oh, yeah, you told me about that! It’s not the science center one, is it?”

“No, that’s in May. This one’s the history trip.”

“Riiight. So, anyway, did you happen to see a black box with a computer-looking thing in--” You glance to the side to find that it’s been moved closer to the wall. “Never mind, I found it.”

“A black box with a computer-looking...oh, that!” He sees you take the GameTop out of its box. “I moved it to grade tests. Now, is that something you ordered online?”

You’re not one to lie to your parents. “...No.”

“Really? Because I know Mom didn’t order it.”

“But what about--? Oh, yeah, he’s away.” Your brother is on vacation with his friends for spring break and won’t be back until the end of the semester.

“Was it even delivered here? It doesn’t have an address on it. Maybe it’s your brother’s old...fringh na feh.”

“His what?”

“His...his fringh na feh!” He clasps his hands together and lifts one up, suggesting opening a hinge.

Surprisingly, this is enough for you to figure it out. “You mean the DS?”

“Yeah, that!”

“No, DSes are smaller than that.” Although your brother _did_ have a black one. “This thing-- whatever it is-- just showed up at the door yesterday. Do you think it’s safe?”

“Let me see.” He walks over to the box and takes out the GameTop. As he opens it and closes it a few times, you notice there’s also a charging cable bundled together with one of those plastic ties. It’s black like the box, so you didn’t see it last night. How long’s the battery life on that thing, anyway?

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by your father’s next statement. “It looks like it,” he says, putting the GameTop back on the counter, “but if we don’t know where it came from, that worries me.”

“Kind of worries me, too,” you admit. “But I really want to know what it is!” You look at the GameTop, then at your father, then at the ceiling, trying to think of a solution. “How about I let you know if we get any more weird mail?”

“Okay...” your dad says, sounding doubtful. “Why don’t you get yourself something to eat? I need to go do my favorite thing, and you know what that is!"

“Laundry?”

“LAUNDRY!” He raises both his arms and the pitch of his voice as he says this.

You chuckle. “Have fun, Dad.”

“Thanks,” he says, laughing a bit himself, before he heads into the laundry room.

Alright, so you’ll use the bathroom, have breakfast, do some other morning things, and THEN you’ll play the game. You rush upstairs, not just because you’re even _more_ curious about the game now, but also because you really have to go.

\---

One morning routine later, you reach the moment you’ve been waiting for. You swipe the GameTop from its position and take it to the living room, where you plop yourself down on the couch.

“Finally!” you say to yourself as you open it. Once you’re sure it’s positioned comfortably in your lap, you reach and and press its tiny power button.

The first thing you see is a bunch of code...you think. Red text flashes on the black screen, mostly displaying numbers and words too fast for you to comprehend...although you do catch “Project Underfell” in there.

Then comes something that looks a little more like a game. A black and white image of a fanged, horned creature standing next to a faceless human appears. The creature’s one eye is black, with a bright red pupil standing out against the grayscale background. And the human, robe torn, is holding up their spear defensively.

Letter by letter, a message appears. “Long ago, two races ruled over Earth: HUMANS and MONSTERS.” Each letter is accompanied by a tapping sound, clearly audible against the background music. If you can call it that; in your opinion, that series of ominous low notes barely qualifies as a melody.

The picture is replaced by another one, showing a group of armed monsters facing a group of equally armed, but much smaller, humans. “One day, war broke out between the two races.”

Humans hiding behind some rocks, with monsters fighting in the background. “The battle raged on, and humanity was in danger.”

The picture doesn’t change. “They sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell.”

No picture this time. “Many years later…”

“MT. EBOTT 201X” Mt. Ebott? You think you’ve heard that name before, but you’re not sure from where.

Soon, a new message stops you from thinking further on the subject. “Legends say climbing the mountain is a death sentence.”

Next is just a series of pictures, showing a human child tripping and falling into the mountain. They arrive at a pair of columns, one of them with the top broken off.

And the screen goes black except for what you presume to be the game’s title: UNDERFELL. There are too few pictures to know for sure, but it looks like the hole in the R is a broken heart.

This is some kind of horror game, isn’t it? You’ve always tended to avoid those.

But you’re not ready to back out just yet. Deciding that you’ll stop playing the minute you’re in danger of having nightmares, you take a look at the next screen.

It’s a set of instructions.The Z button selects, the X goes back, the C brings up the menu, and the power button, when held, quits the game. Got it. You hit Z, which you’ve now designated to be the game’s equivalent of the A button.

You really should go find your Game Boy.

Later, though. Right now, you have to “Name the fallen human.”

Your use the control pad to navigate the onscreen letters, pressing the first one of your name...and quickly backspacing. A package of unknown origins on a dark, stormy night, and you’re going to give it your _real name_? You don’t think so!

So you think for a few moments, decide on a name you’d like to use, and enter that instead.

“Is this correct?” asks the game, in large, trembling text.

Though a little nervous the game wants you to use your real name and will make you suffer consequences if you don’t, you select “Yes.” The screen goes completely red, and you’re sent to the first screen you can walk around in.

Your character, a worried-looking child whose sprite is shaking slightly, stands in a pile of flower petals, with a couple of whole flowers mixed in. Most of the petals are brown and wilted, but one of the whole flowers is a bright yellow hue. It really stands out in the room’s-- and your character’s-- faded color scheme.

“Alright,” you say to yourself. “Let’s do this!” You hit the control pad and go, upwards at first. But when those dark corners prove not to be passageways, you try going right instead. That works.

And you enter a dark hallway, the path outlined only by gray blotches on the ground. You turn left from your character’s point of view, up from yours, and you enter another room, where you come face to face with…

...a flower. A flower with a face. One of the petals is torn.

You step closer to--

“WHO GOES THERE?!”

The most horrible, fragmented monstrosity of a face that could ever carry a menacing expression flashes onscreen, in a dialogue box displaying that message. You jump, making the GameTop slide down your legs. Luckily, you catch it before it falls.

“Wow,” you say once you’ve recovered. “A minute in, and I’m _already_ scared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to name the fallen human! The next question I need your input for is, "What type of name did the reader use for their character?"
> 
> 1\. Something a human could be named. (Like "Alex," "Jordan," or even "CJ")
> 
> [2. A thematically appropriate word unlikely to be a name. (Like "Red" or "Storm")]
> 
> 3\. Something just plain silly. (Like "Squish" or "Toasty")
> 
> Thanks everyone! Since I started writing chapter 4, I'm closing the poll. Since 2 got the most votes, I'll go with a thematic word name! "Faux" just might work...
> 
> And I might still be able to work the name "Marik" into the story somewhere. I'll have to see.


	4. Chapter 4

You slam the Z button, hoping it’ll get that face off your screen, and the horrible look slowly disappears, leaving in its place a much simpler expression. A pair of rectangular eyes, topped by curved, worried eyebrows, and a couple of lines for a slightly open mouth. Much better.

No more dialogue appears for a few seconds, and then a new message appears, this one letter by letter. “Are you…” You press Z. “...human?”

You bring the GameTop up to your face, to take a closer look at your character. “I think so,” you say before putting it back down.

“Oh, no. This...this is bad. I-I mean, it’s good that you probably don’t want to kill me, but…” Z. “...they...they’re gonna...time has...sorry.”

Sorry? For what?

“For scaring you. I, um, thought you were a monster.”

Oh, _that_. “It’s fine. As long as you don’t do it again.”

“I won’t do it again. At least...not because of you.”

You smile at this strange coincidence. The game heard you!

“I...I’m really sorry I gave you such a bad first impression. Of the underground. But...most people around here...they’re…”

“Scary?” you offer just before pressing Z.

“...well, they’re terrifying! And really dangerous! You have a slim chance of surviving here unless…” On the next Z press, you see him smile for the first time since you met him. “...someone shows you how things work! Come a little closer!”

You don’t have to move your character at all; the game takes you to a black screen with a more detailed flower sprite, completely in red, in the top half. The bottom half is occupied by a red outline of a box with a white heart suspended inside of it, and below that is your HP bar. As expected, it’s full, but you find it weird that it tells you what level you are twice.

“Here we are!” your flower host says, this time in a speech bubble. You still need to press Z for him to continue. “Oh, golly, I forgot to introduce myself! So...howdy! I’m Flowey! Flowey the flower!”

“Howdy, partner!” you say, doing your best cowboy voice...which you admit isn’t very good. You chuckle to yourself.

For just a moment, Flowey has that eyebrows-raised surprised expression before he switches back to a nervous smile. “So...welcome to a battle. That right there is your SOUL. The culmination of your very being. You can, uh, move it around.”

A quartet of arrows surrounds the white heart. You use the control pad to move your SOUL around the box, and the arrows disappear.

“Yeah, like that! Now, when you go into battle, monsters are going to try to damage your SOUL through magic. And if they do enough damage, well…” He looks to the side, sweatdrops on his face. “...you know.”

You nod, knowing very well.

Flowey perks up. “But I’m gonna help you...practice! Yeah!” A group of lime green ellipses appear in front of his stem and spread out so that they’re encircling him. “See these? They’re kind of like magic attacks monsters use! They just don’t do any damage. So you don’t have to worry about messing up.”

As far as you’re concerned, in-game death would be no more than an inconvenience, but you still think this is a thoughtful gesture. “Thanks, Flowey!”

Again, Flowey gains that surprised expression, then smiles. “You like them?” he says. “I call them friendliness pellets.”

“Friendliness pellets, huh?” you repeat with good-natured laughter. “Aw, do you want to be my friend?”

“I...uh…i-if you...why don’t you try dodging them?”

You don’t have much time to wonder what Flowey could have been responding to at the beginning there, because soon, the friendliness pellets rain down on the box where your SOUL is.

“Ah!” you exclaim, rushing to maneuver your SOUL out of the way. But the fact is you just weren’t ready, and you accidentally hit one of the pellets. “Darn it.”

“It’s okay! That’s why we’re practicing! So when you come across those red attacks, you can protect your HP!”

Red attacks are bad. Got it.

“Of course, you CAN get more HP. I mean, more max HP, but for that, you...you have to…” He looks down, and the next message appears in tiny type. “...kill people.” His whole face tilts downward, giving him the appearance of wilting. “In this world...it’s kill or be killed,” he says. “I hate it.”

You don’t know what to make of this. On one hand, that’s how things normally work in games; you destroy enemies to level up, but...when you put it _that_ way...it sounds really awful.

Before you can say anything about that, however, Flowey is knocked off the screen by a burst of red fireballs. One of them hits your SOUL, knocking off 3 of your HP in the process.

And a new character appears onscreen, an animal lady (you believe she’s some sort of goat) with a pair of horns, a torn dress, and bags under her huge eyes, as if she hasn’t slept in days. She looks to the side where Flowey flew off. “What a miserable creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth…”

You have a feeling this is where the game truly begins.

\---

How could he have been so careless?

He’d known for years that Toriel was heading in this direction; it’s where she’d been facing when time stopped. He should have heard her footsteps from a mile away, told that human to run and hide. Maybe then he wouldn’t be lying in the crack between a wall and the ground, with more than half his HP gone.

As he gathered his strength to conjure himself some healing pellets, he wondered why in the world he’d let his guard down when he knew very well that time had resumed, along with all the danger the underground carried. And that not being watchful would endanger not only _his_ life, but that of his new...

...friend.

Could that human really be described as that? A friend? Flowey had only known them for a few moments. But in those few moments, they’d managed to make him feel something other than terror, or hopelessness, or even anger. For the first time since time had stopped, maybe even since he’d become a flower, he felt something...positive.

No, more than just positive. He’d felt at ease with them, like he didn’t have to worry about them killing him. With monsters, that usually meant they’d decided he wasn’t worth the trouble, or that he could be of some use to them. But this human was different. They were odd, yes, and didn’t seem to take their situation all that seriously, but they were genuinely enjoying themself. Genuinely enjoying his company.

And though they’d been half-joking...they’d asked to be his friend.

There was only one other person who had offered him that in his entire life. Someone who was long gone now.

Which meant that this… “Faux” ...as he’d seen their name was, may be his only chance for true happiness in the next several centuries. If this form was capable of harboring true happiness at all, that child was the only possible cause of it.

And he’d just let them get abducted by Toriel.

As soon as he’d healed himself completely, he followed behind, on the vague hope that somehow, his presence would increase their chance of survival. There were so many things he still needed to ask them.

Perhaps he’d start by asking how to pronounce their name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is taking longer than I thought, but I do have it planned out and hope to write it soon! Thank you for your patience.


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